


Six Minutes In Heaven

by mokuyoubi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking Games, Drunken Kissing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly has somehow roped Hannibal into joining in on drinking games, and she has one clear objective in mind for him and Will...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Minutes In Heaven

“Bev, I’ve got my final in Abram’s class Tuesday, I don’t have time for this.”

 

“It’s your last final. And all you have to do is turn your paper. And before you try to tell me you need to work on it, I know it’s finished--I saw the print-off on your desk.”

 

“Revisions!” 

 

Will protests fall on deaf ears. Beverly’s a lot stronger than she looks and persistent as fuck. He’s going to be dragged there or give in, one way the other. The sooner he does, the less obnoxious she’ll be.

 

Brian and Jimmy are in the living room, along with Bev’s on-again/off-again boyfriend Zach. Alana and Margot are there and already making out. And, sitting in the recliner with a red solo cup and a bemused expression on his face, Will’s other roommate, Hannibal.

 

Will arches a questioning brow and plops down at his feet, accepting the cup Beverly hands him. He takes a sip and wrinkles his nose in disgust. Fucking PBR. From the look on his face, Hannibal doubtless feels the same. Will’s never seen him drink anything but wine, and rarely more than a glass. Knowing his snobby-ass taste, he can’t believe Hannibal would be down for this.

 

“Okay, now I really need to know what she’s got on you that she managed to drag you into this.”

 

Hannibal mimes zipping his lips and throwing the key over his shoulder. “I’ll never tell.”

 

Beverly claps her hands and pats the ground between herself and Will. “Everyone on the floor.” Hannibal sighs, but obligingly settles down beside them. “The game is asshole!” 

 

Alana and Will groan in unison and share a rueful look. Beverly ignores them, dealing out the cards. “So, Hannibal, when someone plays a card, you have to play higher, or a two--”

 

“I’m aware of the rules of the game,” Hannibal interrupts, and off their looks, “I  _ was  _ an undergraduate once upon a time, you know.”

 

Brian wins the first round and starts ordering everyone to drink every time a card is played, which is how Will goes from tipsy to well and truly shit-faced over the course of about five rounds and cements his role as Asshole. 

 

House rules say President can order Asshole to do anything, not just drink. Brian’s a dick, but not particularly creative. Will’s wearing Jimmy’s socks on his ears and Margot’s bra over his shirt, and he’s gotten a lipstick makeover from Beverly, all courtesy of Brian. If Will didn’t know better, he would think this was flirting.

 

Alana isn’t much better off, slumped over with her face in Margot’s shoulder. Hannibal...well, he’s just doing everything in an overly precise, exaggerated manner, his accent grown thicker with every passing moment, but otherwise there’s no outward sign of intoxication. It would figure that Hannibal does  _ drunk _ as dignified as everything else in life.

 

Beverly wins a hand finally, and Will, even drunk off his ass, doesn’t miss the gleam in her eyes. “Asshole,” she enunciates slowly, “Has to spin a bottle. Seven minutes in heaven with the winner!” She passes Will an empty brown bottle and gives him a cheerful grin.

 

Will flips her off and grins back. He’s drunkenly made out with half the room already. All that remains is Brian, who’d be weird about it, but frankly Will doesn’t give a fuck, and Jimmy, who’d probably be laughing too hard to follow through. Honestly, the only worry he has is it landing on Hannibal, and what are the fucking odds?

 

The odds, apparently, are laughing at him. The bottle spins wildly across the floor before wobbling to a stop pointing straight at Hannibal.

 

Will glances up at those dark eyes that he has memorised--that he fucking  _ dreams _ about--and his mouth goes dry, his stomach drops somewhere around his toes. He suddenly feels stone-cold sober. Hannibal blinks once, twice, then rises to his feet only slightly unsteady, and offers Will a hand up. The room around them erupts into lewd cheers.

 

“We don’t have to do this,” Will protests as he stands. Momentum has him stumbling into Hannibal’s chest, warm and vaguely spicy-smelling under the scent of the beer.

 

“Nonsense,” Hannibal murmurs, voice a low rumble that Will feels between them. “We can’t give Beverly the satisfaction of reneging.”

 

Will’s brow furrows. That logic isn’t very sound from where he’s standing. Then again, he’s standing pressed all against Hannibal’s front, and neither of them are moving, so his brain isn’t really functioning at full capacity.

 

They make their way into the tiny hall closet, stuffed full of winter coats and rain boots. Hannibal spreads back the hangers making a narrow space for them to stand. Beverly’s triumphant expression is the last thing Will sees before the door closes and they’re plunged into absolute darkness.

 

It’s weirdly quiet, even with the noises of the others continuing on with the game outside. Will can hear Hannibal’s breathing, deep and slightly uneven. “Will?” he says, barely more than a whisper, and his fingertips brush against Will’s stomach. 

 

Will catches his hand around the wrist to steady himself, feeling out their relative positions in the dark. “Sorry you got dragged into this.” He’s already planning some elaborate payback for Beverly after this.

 

Hannibal sways closer, nose nudging against Will’s hairline, and he inhales deeply. Will quirks an incredulous look, lost on Hannibal’s sightless eyes. “Did you just  _ smell _ me?” Hannibal doesn’t answer directly, just nuzzles his way down Will’s temple. His palm flattens against Will’s belly and slides around to rest on his waist.

 

“You know,” Will says, trembling, “I’m pretty sure being called a reneger lost its sting sometime in grade school.”

 

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice, gravelly and deep, sends a shiver up his spine. “You’ve already wasted one of our minutes.”

 

“Oh.” Will’s so startled he doesn’t even know what to do with that, hands coming up to rest on Hannibal’s shoulders. He starts to say, “if you’re sure?” But the words don’t make it past his lips before Hannibal’s mouth is on his. 

 

Hannibal’s hand slides into Will’s hair, holding him close as he licks along the seam of Will’s lips. Will opens, unhesitating, and Hannibal strokes his tongue into Will’s mouth, teasingly light across his palate. 

 

Hannibal is all sharp teeth digging gently into his lip and warm hand finding the bare skin beneath the hem of Will’s shirt, clever fingers twisting in his curls. Will can barely keep up, panting into his mouth, hands clinging to his shirt, trying to tug him closer with every passing breath. Hannibal’s kisses swallow Will’s disbelief that he’s  _ finally _ allowed to have this.

 

They totter dangerous and crash against the wall, Will pressed in a hard line against Hannibal’s chest, legs slotted together in a way that makes their mutual desire undeniable. When Hannibal shifts his hips and Will opens his thighs wider, they moan in unison and settle into a gentle rhythm.

 

Beverly opens the door six minutes later, looking smug as hell. But in the dim light, all Will sees are Hannibal’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips, and the glassy lust in his eyes. Will grabs his hand and tugs him past Beverly, down the hall towards his room. She can gloat all she wants later, Will is the clear winner, here.


End file.
